


A Flock At Twilight

by indefiniteimpala



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Kirk - Spock - Bones friendship, Klingons, Mystery, Original Agender Character - Freeform, Original Trans Character - Freeform, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, The tribbles save the day, Thriller, Tribbles (Star Trek), or are there?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefiniteimpala/pseuds/indefiniteimpala
Summary: “Well, Kirk’s finally lost it.”“Kirk – as in captain-of-the-Enterprise Kirk?”“What other Kirks do you know?”“Well, shit. What’s he done?”“As far as I can tell? Blown up a diplomatic docking station on Takar, gone AWOL with his whole ship, then been sighted running around in Bangladesh, on Earth, two days later. No sign of the Enterprise, no word to Command, nothing.”“In Bangladesh?”“That’s the part of this you find strange?”





	1. Prologue

_To boldly go …_

“It’s a simple mission, Spock.”

They were sitting under a tree, a nice change of pace. It was an alien tree, of course; with silver bark and rustling leaves a thousand shades of crimson. The ground, pebbly dirt and sparse, copper-coloured grass-ish something, was baked with the heat of two binary suns. It was just the two of them, Kirk and his first officer, stretched out in the welcome shade.

“I understand, Captain. I merely think it unwise to offer political favouritism at such a volatile time.”

The rest of the landing party were just over the ridge behind them. Kirk could hear Bones’s tricorder beeping from here. He cast a lazy eye over the two suns sinking towards a horizon ridged and jagged with incredible mountain ranges, the light going deep red with the evening and colouring the whole glorious, wild expanse. The cool of the planet’s three-Earth-day night was beginning to bite the air, and he couldn’t say he minded. Warmth radiated from the rock around them. Their Starfleet insignia glittered.

“Political favouritism?” he said slowly. “As I understand it, Spock, we’ve been asking to escort the Takarian ambassador on his return to Andoria – a routine mission. Hardly an act of war.”

“You know very well, Captain, that nothing to do with Takar is simple while the succession of their monarchy remains uncertain. I am trying to give you advice.” Spock leaned forward to fish a stone out of his boot.

“Give it to Starfleet Command, then.”

It wasn’t usual that the pair of them got a chance to just sit like this. A quick reconnaisance trip to Rho Darag III, a little uninhabited planet on the corner of Nothing and Nowhere, on which half the bridge crew had elected to tag along – a breath of fresh (scorching) air, much needed after several months without shore leave. Mission to mission to mission; ever since the events of Yorktown, it seemed the whole galaxy wanted them to be somewhere, do something, save the day …

Kirk sighed. Spock was right, of course. The USS Enterprise wasn’t a ship you sent somewhere lightly. Takar was a complicated place right now – an offshoot human colony that had grown into its own three-world independant Empire, with a dying prince who couldn’t confirm an heir. It was a time bomb. Kirk hadn’t been able to find out if the ambassador to Andoria had any particular political alignments in the whole vicious power-struggle, but even so, the Federation sending its darling ship to escort him was … a statement. Of some kind. Kirk couldn’t figure out _why_ they’d been sent, and it was bothering him, just a nagging, persistant itch. He knew it was bothering Spock.

Kirk flipped open his communicator. “Bones, you lot done back there yet?”

“Just about, Jim. About that nice walk you promised me …” McCoy’s voice was hazy over the channel, Kirk could hear laughter in the background. “This botanical team is a bunch of idiots. They’ve spent the whole time messing around with Chekov. I’ve collected all the samples myself. And Sulu’s just stuck his hand in some kind of thorn bush; it’s purple and twice normal size already …”

“A chance to practice your skills, Doctor,” said Kirk, and cut the com with a grin. He could hear the _‘Damnit, Jim, I’m a doctor not a xenobotanist!’_ in Bones’s voice. Spock’s eyes crinkled up at the corners in what stood for the Vulcan’s smile.

Kirk caught his eye and reached over to clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, Spock. We’ll do what Starfleet’s asking, and then we’ll deal with what happens next. It’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir,” said Spock, and cast his eyes up through the swirling vermillion leaves to the velvet sky above.

Kirk opened up a channel to the Enterprise, lurking somewhere behind that darkening expanse. “Scotty, you can bring us back now. Oh, and Bones would like you to alert medical. Seems we can’t spend five minutes on another planet without some sort of accident.”

“Right you are, Captain,” came Scotty’s voice, echoing down from so many miles above. “Ah gather it’s business as usual.”

 

*

 


	2. It's Not a Simple Mission, Spock

The Enterprise was in high orbit above Takar, the homeworld of the Takar United Imperium. Its rich brown surface, mottled with streams of cloud and bright cobalt patches of ocean, seemed to turn slowly before them.

Kirk swung onto the bridge, dressed in a crisp clean uniform and still appreciating the coolness of the ship’s atmospheric systems. The time in warp over from Rho Darag had barely been enough for a shower and a quick nap, and he was anticipating the upcoming formalities and inevitable dinner party with something approaching weariness.

“How are we looking, Mr Sulu?” He fell back into his chair, then tried to straighten up a bit. _This is all about appearances_.

Sulu, his left hand wrapped in a bandage but otherwise seemingly its normal size and colour, spared Kirk a glance. “Steady orbit, captain; we’re coming in range of the transfer station now.”

“Very good. Lieutenant Uhura?”

“Hailing them now, sir.”

The transfer station floated into view. It was a fairly standard orbital base, a central module surrounded by concentric rings of docking ports, big enough for a couple of interstellar liners but nothing major. Takar was still a growing power, as Starfleet liked to phrase it.

The station glittered in the sunrise, the light slanting from just behind the Enterprise to gild a beautfiul vista of the planet. The dawn picked out the shuttles sitting in their places on the planet-side of the station, a sweet little star-clipper sitting at one of the far docks … hold on, that shower of debris arcing from the central module wasn’t supposed to be there, was it?

“Captain!” cried Uhura suddenly, her hand flying to her earpiece. “I’m getting – something’s wrong!”

A glittering spray of metal was drifting away from the station, tumbling in that removed, chaotic way that space wreckage has in zero gee. As the Enterprise cruised closer, Kirk could see the extent of the damage. Almost half of the central dome had been blown away – by what? He pushed himself to his feet.

“We’re being hailed,” said Uhura suddenly. “It’s – the Ambassador’s shuttle. They request permission to dock at the Enterprise, sir.”

Kirk strode up to the viewscreen, past Sulu and Chekov’s worried, alert faces. There was a shuttle speeding towards them, a dot of light against the wreckage – Kirk could just about recognise it as a somewhat outdated Class C shuttlecraft; something quality for a diplomat, but still Federation hand-me-downs. Fire bloomed suddenly inside the transfer station.

“Tell them they have it,” said Kirk. “Mr Spock, have a security detail accompany me to the shuttlebay. Mr Sulu, shields up.” He left the bridge at a trot.

Even flanked by two burly crewmembers in red shirts, with phasers at their hips, Kirk didn’t feel a lot safer (just shorter) as he entered the docking bay. He watched from behind the glass as the Takarian shuttle – he could see the markings on its flank now – lurched in and was guided to rest on the nearest platform. He frowned at the scorch marks on its blast shields. Unconsciously, his fingers drummed against the side of his leg.

The outside hatches of the shuttlebay sealed with a hiss, and the light beside the door blinked green. Kirk was through it and jumping down the steps to the docking platform before his security team could even think the words ‘safety check’.

He stopped about three feet away as the shuttle’s door slid open. A man stepped out, wearing long robes, in layers of dark purple and woven with angular, metallic patterns. He had short-cropped black hair and incredibly dark skin that shone in the blinking lights of the shuttlebay. Kirk frowned. He was sure this wasn’t the ambassador. Whoever it was, he looked … familiar, in a nagging, sinking way that gave Kirk a sense of something really heavy about to hit him really hard in the face.

The stranger locked eyes with Kirk, and for a long moment they stood there silently, weighing each other up. Kirk got the feeling that the other man learned a lot more than he did. Then the stranger stepped forward, and Kirk saw that he was holding a little girl by the hand. He helped her down from the shuttle. She had skin as dark as him and long, long braids tied back in a ponytail. Her dress was orange with sequins on the hem and she was clutching a stuffed animal. There was a cut on her cheek. She looked up at Kirk with the same fear and uncertainty as the man had, but written much more plainly in her big dark eyes.

It was the girl who finally tipped Kirk off. Certainly not the Takarian ambassador to Andoria – the Enterprise’s new guests were none other than Prince Themba, the ruler of the Imperium, and Princess Neo, his six-year-old niece and the person he claimed to be his only legitimate heir.

“Shit,” said Kirk.

Prince Themba raised his free hand. In a heavy accent he said, “Ey hoped they would ssend you, Captahn Jeyms Kirk.”

 

*

 

The briefing room was tense. Kirk, Spock and Uhura stood around one side of the table; Prince Themba and his niece sat at the other. Kirk had ordered the Enterprise out of Takar local space; they were orbiting the system’s star now, but he felt far from secure.

“Do you speak English?” asked Kirk.

“No,” said the prince, with a firm shake of the head.

Bones had found a nest of tribbles where the translators were supposed to be, which was embarrassing enough. Kirk had caught himself feeling glad that the ambassador wasn’t aboard as planned.

Kirk turned to Uhura. “And you don’t speak …”

“Tsont-tarra? No, sir. Nor any of the other twenty or so languages native to the Imperium. But … if I remember my history – ” She sat down opposite Prince Themba and leaned towards him. “Swahili?”

The prince nodded and said something in that language. Uhura looked up at Kirk.

“Okay, he knows enough to get by. At least until Communications finds some spare translators.”

“Alright.” Kirk took a seat, and Spock sat at his other side. The captain leant his elbows on the table. “Prince Themba, why are you on my ship? Where is the ambassador?”

Uhura translated and the prince answered at length, directing his words at the captain. He looked grave, but then he hadn’t stopped looking grave the whole time he had been on board.

Uhura said quietly, “He says, the ambassador was never intended to come aboard the Enterprise. The whole plan was laid out months ago. The prince believes – ” she glanced at Prince Themba – “he knows that there is a design on his life in the capital, and on his niece’s life. He needed to get them both off-system without using official channels. Asking Starfleet for an honourary escort for a mid-level diplomat was … the perfect excuse.”

Kirk nodded slowly. The sinking feeling in his stomach was solidifying into something more like lead. He could tell Spock was far from pleased, as well. There was a tiny crease forming between the Vulcan’s pointy eyebrows.

“Alright,” said Kirk. “Ask him – Your highness, what happened to the transfer station?”

Another frustrating lag as Uhura translated and the prince struggled with his response in a language he was unfamiliar with. At last Uhura turned back to Kirk, her face grim.

“That was an accident. The people who are trying to kill him and his niece must have traced them there and made a last-ditch attempt to finish the job. Apparently the station is crippled. Prince Themba doesn’t know how many are dead, but he fears it must be a lot.” She paused a moment, but as Kirk opened his mouth, added, “The prince doesn’t know who exactly is chasing him, if that’s your next question. Sir. He says it could be any of a handful of groups who want the throne, or who just want chaos.” Kirk shut his mouth again, frustrated.

Spock put his hand on the table by Kirk’s elbow. “Captain, you understand we can’t go back to Takar orbit. With Prince Themba and Princess Neo on board we would be endangering the whole ship and anyone in our vicinity. And … any other survivors are most likely rescued or dead by now.”

Kirk frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. At last he said, “Your – your highness, what do you … what are you expecting us to do for you?”

Prince Themba nodded as Uhura conveyed this to him, his eyes locked on Kirk’s. “Captahn Jeyms Kirk,” he said. “Ey hoped – ey hoped – ” He turned to Uhura and spoke in fast Swahili. Her eyes widened.

“He was hoping that the Enterprise would take him and his niece to Earth, captain.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk leaned forward. “Do you intend to ask for asylum on Earth, Prince Themba?” _Good lord, Starfleet’s going to kill me … what a political nightmare._

But Uhura was already shaking her head. “He said, to Earth but _not_ to Starfleet, sir.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t want to make contact with the Federation, sir. At least, his syntax was a bit strange but that’s what I gather. He wants us to take him to Earth … and not be seen. By anyone.”

Spock’s other eyebrow went up.

“I …” Kirk leaned back in his chair, regarding the Takarian prince with a whole storm of conflicting emotions. Exasperation won. “Sir, you realise you’re asking a Federation ship to break – God, I don’t know – _how many_ Federation laws?” Uhura glanced at him, clearly editing the message down.

Prince Themba steepled his long fingers in front of him as he replied. “He realises,” said Uhura dryly. “He says he has important reasons for staying under the radar, most critically the protection of those around him. He doesn’t want another attack like on the transfer station to happen to Earth.”

“Tell him Earth has its own defenses,” snapped Kirk.

A pause, a lag, a quick patter of Swahili. “He says, ‘Not all of it.’”

“What do you mean, not all of it?”

“That’s what he said, captain. I asked for clarification but that’s all he would say.”

“Captahn,” said the Prince suddenly. “Ey ahm …” He spoke quickly to Uhura.

“Protecting a friend,” she said quietly. The Prince nodded.

Kirk sighed. Prince Themba, tall and straight-backed and serious, looked back at him across the table. Beside him, Princess Neo watched Kirk too, with solemn eyes. She still had her little toy dog tucked under her arm. Kirk’s eyes went to the little strip of sterilizing plaster Bones had stuck to her face.

“Prince Themba,” he said suddenly, “Where’s your security detail? Your advisors? The rest of your family? You didn’t bring anyone with you?”

Uhura translated this, and the prince shrugged. A wry note crept into his eyes as he said one short sentence.

Uhura glanced between them. “He says, ‘Who could I trust?’”

Kirk looked at the two Takarians for a long, delicate moment. He could feel Spock’s tension on one side and Uhura’s palpable compassion on the other. Slowly he nodded. At that moment, an explosion rocked the ship.

The lights flickered and they were all shunted sideways as if they had been struck by an invisible hand. Uhura went sprawling. Princess Neo was knocked into the prince with a shrill cry, and he caught her in a frantic hug.

Kirk dragged himself upright with a hand on the edge of the table and slammed the Comm button. Sulu’s face appeared on the screen. “What’s going on, Sulu?”

Sulu looked harried, lit by flashing lights from screens all over the bridge. “Some kind of long range torpedo, captain! It damaged our shields but they’re holding at seventy percent.”

Kirk glanced at Prince Themba. “Did you know – no, of course you didn’t.” The Takarians were still braced against the table, the terror of the transfer station attack written in both their faces.

Spock was helping Uhura to her feet. “Captain, I think it’s time we – ”

“Yes, you’re right, Spock. Mr Sulu, take us to warp. Set course for – Andoria. I’ll be right up.”

“Yessir.” Sulu blinked out.

“Andoria?” said Uhura, straightening her uniform.

“Well, if we’re meant to be at Earth secretly, we don’t want to be followed from this end, do we?”

Uhura smiled and Spock shot him a glance.

“Captahn,” said Prince Themba. Kirk turned to face him. The prince said something and placed a hand over his heart, shifting his grip on his niece, who still clung to him. Uhura gave him a deep nod.

“What did he say?”

“That this is why he hoped it would be the Enterprise that was assigned to this mission. He says our reputation is for helping people, not following the rules. I think he gambled everything on this, captain.”

Kirk quirked a grin he didn’t feel, then gave the prince a nod of his own. “Lieutenant Uhura, take the prince and princess to the ambassador’s cabin and see that they have a security detail with them at all times. Then meet us on the bridge. I think we’re going to need you to hide our frequencies from Earth channels.”

Uhura made a face – half excitement at the challenge, half nervous – and moved to the Takarians, speaking in quiet Swahili. Kirk and Spock strode out of the briefing room.

“Captain, I question your willingness to trust a stranger over Starfleet regulations,” said Spock as they headed for the lift tube.

“You know, your problem, Spock, is that you assume the regulations are there for a reason.”

“In some cases I would be willing to debate that point with you, captain, but bringing a foreign leader of dubious legitimacy to Earth in secret is not one of them.”

“I was teasing you, Spock. And what would you have me do, throw them back out into space?”

Spock gave him a very Vulcan Look. “Hardly, captain. But ceding to the prince’s request to keep our presence a secret – ”

“I think he does have good reasons. And I think we’ll find them out soon enough.”

“But those reasons might not be for the good of Starfleet, captain! Need I repeat the phrase ‘foreign leader’?” They stepped into the lift and both said, “Bridge,” automatically. It began to whir upwards, rings of blue light sliding along the glass. “The only logical thing to do is to report to Starfleet as soon as we reach Earth. This matter is the jurisdiction of the Federation; it is not something for a single starship to decide. We do not have all the information in the matter – we have barely any.”

“Takar is part of the Federation,” said Kirk mildly.

“They may not be soon if we act rashly. I repeat, captain – I do not think it advisable to trust Prince Themba’s word on this.”

The lift doors hissed open onto the noise and activity of the bridge. Kirk turned to face Spock. “What makes you think I trust him?” he said, stepping backwards onto the bridge.

 

*


	3. Friends Help Friends Do Crimes

The rings of Saturn loomed below them in the blackness, from this angle an infinite stretch of ochre and red. Spock was reminded of a time a little under five years before, when they had hidden in a very similar position. Now, though, the bridge was quiet – comtemplative, even; just the clicks and beeps of the equipment. The captain was sitting in his chair, one leg propped on the other knee and his fingers tapping thoughtfully. Spock seemed to recall they had been breaking Starfleet rules five years ago, too.

Kirk had let the Takarians alone on the journey to Earth, four hours thirty-eight minutes in warp. Spock wished that he would ask the questions that so needed to be asked – what friend? Why Earth? Who might be in pursuit? But Jim would “give them space” and “they’ve just been through a traumatic experience, Spock.” Sitting at his post with a PADD across his knees, Spock fixed the back of Kirk’s head with a Vulcan stare. Historically, Kirk had known what he was doing. Nevertheless, on the PADD was Spock’s complete and accurate report of the past hours. Just in case.

The lift door hissed open and Prince Themba was ushered through by a security officer. Dr McCoy was trailing them, looking curious. The prince’s niece still clung to his hand and her stuffed animal. The bridge went quiet.

Kirk leaped to his feet and went to greet them. He looked as smiling and good-natured as ever, but Spock thought that the captain seemed tense, tired.

The translators had been found, misfiled as ‘Vitamin Supplements, B12’. Both of the Takarians wore them pinned to their shirt collars, shiny tabs the size of Starfleet insignia.  

“This is not Earth, captain.” The prince gestured to the swirling vista, his face bland.

“No,” agreed Kirk, equally polite. “We’re currently orbiting Saturn, the sixth planet in the system. We’re still outside the Federation security net.”

“Ah.” Prince Themba nodded.

“I thought this might be a good time for you to tell me why we’re here.”

Spock knew that the whole bridge was staring at the two of them now, though he at least had the decency to do it covertly.

“Quite so. If it is within your capabilities, I wish for your ship to beam myself and Princess Neo to the surface at these co-ordinates.” The prince pulled out a hand-held and showed the screen to Kirk.

“Of course it’s within our capabilities, Your Highness – from a closer range, inside which we will certainly be violating the regulations that require us to make our presence known. I understand that that’s an issue for you.”

Spock saw Uhura, a couple of chairs away, grin wryly, and flashed a warning glance at her. She caught his eye and just twitched an eyebrow.

“We appreciate your understanding of the need to, ah, bend the rules sometimes, Captain Kirk,” said Prince Themba, with the slightest hint of steel.

“Hmm,” said Kirk, tapping his mouth in exaggerated confusion – the captain always did like to be dramatic, thought Spock, wondering if he could possibly intervene. “Thing is, your highness, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand it in this case. Why is it, exactly, that you’re so set on having no-one know you’re here?”

An alert on Chekov’s screen went off with an insistent _beepbeepbeep_ and he lunged to turn it off. Neither Kirk nor the prince broke eye contact. Spock, the PADD forgotten, stared at the captain with increasing frustration. _You had better not mishandle this one, Jim._

Finally Prince Themba glanced away. “I … had rather not have this conversation here, captain.”

“I think we’d better.” Kirk looked grim now, play-acting abandonned. His eyes flicked to Princess Neo, standing silent and composed by her uncle’s side, and back up again. “I may be about to ask my crew to break Federation law. I think they deserve to know why.”

The prince nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” said Kirk. Spock could tell he meant it. The captain took a step back to lean against the doorway next to McCoy, and motioned to the prince – _you have the room._ “Let’s start with why – no, _who_ you’re going to visit.”

“I must trust you all with this information, it seems,” said Prince Themba. He drew Princess Neo closer against him and looked around the bridge. His chin was high and proud and yet the gesture was somehow an appeal – a request. Spock unconsciously turned his chair towards them. “Understand that I am placing in your power not only my life, not only the life of my niece and heir, but also the life of a dear friend and possibly the only hope for my Empire.

“In my youth I studied at the Tri-Planet Academy, and there I met a human – a citizen of Earth – named Lalla Nordskøv. They were studying at the College of Medicine, and after graduating returned to Earth, to practice in their home of Bangladesh. We remained in contact over these years, though recently, for … certain reasons …”

Prince Themba trailed off, and rubbed his temple. The bridge was utterly silent. He took an audible breath. “I am _sure_ ,” said the prince, and there was a sharp note to his voice, “that most of you, as Starfleet officers, are aware of my protracted illness. It is a strain of Sarkissian-Gabriel Syndrome, a genetic condition that results in the slow breakdown of DNA. Onset and symptoms are variable, but accelerate swiftly towards the end. My doctors give me up to two years. How much of that I will maintain capacity for is unknown.” His face and tone were utterly blank. Spock saw Uhura glance away.

“However,” continued Prince Themba. “Dr Nordskøv, who has devoted many years of research to SGS, believed in recent years that they were close to some kind of breakthrough. Whether this would lead to a cure, some kind of palliative, or nothing at all, I have never discovered, as, ah, political events on my own planets … obliged me to neglect ties.

“What you must all know is that Dr Nordskøv is not in good standing with the Federation. On paper, their methods and practices are too unconventional; in truth their politics are … hm. In any case. I could not seek their help. But the most important reason for all this, this painful secrecy is the danger I trail myself. My illness has defined the political landscape of the Takarian Imperium for some time. For those who would sit in my place, it is an open door. For others, a piece of leverage. While my time on the throne is uncertain, the Imperium remains in turmoil. Were it known that I had hope of some kind of cure … and now more than ever, as my niece and I are fleeing from unknown attackers and a plot of unknown origin and scope – well, the stakes are higher than they have ever been, and with them, the risk. I – do understand if – ”

_Bip bip bip bip bip!_ went Chekov’s computer and he slammed a hand on it, flushing bright red.

“As I was saying,” said Prince Themba dryly, “I understand entirely if the Enterprise cannot commit to my cause. But she – and Earth – would earn the gratitude of the Imperium, if and when it is returned to my power.”

There was a drawn-out silence. Spock could hear Chekov threatening his computer in Russian under his breath.

“That’s a hell of a long shot,” said Bones, in his southern drawl. “Uh, your highness.” The prince merely inclined his head.

“Earth would have your gratitude,” said Kirk slowly, “but it doesn’t – currently – have your trust?”

Prince Themba shook his head. “I know that my enemies have agents within your government,” he said simply.

The silence this time was ugly and uncomfortable.

“Alright,” said Kirk quietly. “Mr Sulu, set course for Earth. Don’t go closer than you need to.”  

“Shall I scramble our communications channels, captain?” said Uhura quickly, as the Enterprise lifted away from the vast sepia expanse of the rings.

“Yes, lieutenant, if you would.”

Spock stood to go help Uhura. She didn’t need help and they both knew it, but she let him stand behind her and flick switches while she tapped rapidly on her console. Spock felt he needed to be involved somehow; inaction was morally inferior to action and if the Enterprise was breaking the rules he had to take part in it, and not watch, unaccountable, from the sidelines. _Illogical._

“Prince Themba,” Kirk was saying, “You and I and an away team will beam down to your co-ordinates once we are in range. _If_ we find Dr Nordskøv, we’ll speak to them and beam back aboard the Enterprise within one hour. If the Enterprise hasn’t heard from us by that time, they’ll beam us back anyway. Catch that, Mr Chekov?”

“Uh – yes sir!” said Chekov, who didn’t want to admit he’d been listening avidly.

“Good. Princess Neo – ”

“I will come with the ‘away team’, sir captain Kirk,” said the princess.

Spock flipped on the lidar deflectors and turned to look at her. Despite what Kirk and others ( _McCoy_ ) might think, he had a great deal of sympathy – of empathy – for the Takarians, especially the young princess. He could see in her, in the way she clutched that toy dog like someone was going to snatch it from her, echoes of how he had felt the day Vulcan had disintegrated in front of him. _And every day after_.

“Uh … absolutely not,” said Kirk, who was not used to being confronted by children. “Your highness. It’s not safe.”

“Princess Neo will come with us,” said the prince, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. His tone was politely conversational and absolutely assured. He put up a hand as Kirk opened his mouth to argue. “Captain Kirk, she has as much stake in this as I.”

Kirk had to concede that one.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain, I request permission to go as well. I did a course in biomedical sciences in preparation for the Vulcan Science Academy. I believe it might come in useful.”

Kirk eyed him up – Spock could see his thinking clearly: _Is he just volunteering so he can spend the whole mission telling me how many rules we’re breaking?_ It was half right. The other half was that Spock didn’t trust Jim Kirk to look after himself in a potentially dangerous situation. _Another feeling I cannot shake._

“Alright, Spock.” Kirk turned around and grinned at McCoy. “Bones, you’re always telling me you’re a doctor; you can come too. Mr Sulu, you have the con. Monahan, Yuen, fetch three more phasers from the armoury and meet us at the transporter room.” The two security officers saluted and left. Kirk gestured to the lift tube, half-ironic. “After you, your highness.”

 

*

 

The Takarians and Dr McCoy were walking ahead, Bones deep in conversation with the prince over this theoretical palliative for SGS. Spock took the opportunity to draw the captain behind.

“I believe I have understood your reasoning thus far, captain.”

“Have you, Spock.” Kirk had that half-smile of his, that came so easily when he was talking to Spock; exasperated amusement over a deep fondness. Spock wondered if the captain could read _his_ expressions so easily.

“Yes sir. In bringing the prince and princess thus far and no farther, you have acted strictly within the bounds of regulation. You could, at this stage, contact Starfleet and make a full report, and merely raise a few eyebrows at not having communicated earlier. You waited until now to ask for further details to impress upon the prince how reliant on us he is. Had he been still unwilling to answer, I assume – ” _or choose to assume_ “ – that you would have followed the lawful course and reported in, with no harm to our reputation.”

“Very good, Spock,” said Kirk, laughing a little. “You missed one thing – that the closer people get to getting what they want, the more they’re willing to give for it. It’s very human. Don’t worry, you’ll learn one day.” He clapped Spock on the shoulder with a grin.

“So far you are within the law,” continued Spock inexorably. “And even somewhat further, as I am sure you are aware, captain; there are … excuses we could make for our behavior. But at some point there will be a line, that when we cross it could mean the end of our careers. Or much worse. And – ”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me when we get to it, Spock.”

Spock gave him a very bland look, but let the matter drop. “ _One_ other point of your logic escapes me, captain. Why did you not inform me of your intentions?”

“What, and deter you from writing that report? I know you spent the afternoon drafting out a neatly-worded, everything-in-order record of the whole headache. You’re incapable of not. Might have saved me the trouble, if – as you say – I’d decided to do the, ah, sensible thing.”

Kirk walked on ahead, leaving Spock to glare after him. He could see the captain’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

 

*

 

It was late afternoon at the co-ordinates Prince Themba had given them – somewhere on the edge of a city called Rajshahi. Scotty beamed them down in a side alley. It took Spock a second to adjust, from the clean, clinical air of the Enterprise to a wave of heat and the smell of humanity. Pollution still plagued some of these Earth cities, and Spock found his throat tightening. A few metres away the alley gave onto a street; vivid with sunlight, with light traffic – people on foot, hoverbikes, or archaic bicycles. Mostly human. It was busy enough to make the Vulcan feel nervous. He pulled his civilian jacket tighter, despite the heat – Kirk hadn’t thought it necessary to put more than a layer on over their uniforms, but Spock was uneasy.

“This way,” said Prince Themba, once he had his bearings. His voice sounded artificial and tinny through the translator, surrounded by all this reality.

The prince led them across the street and through a warren of other alleyways. The ground was uneven – cobbles, concrete, sometimes bare mud. They were clearly in a poorer residential district. Spock and McCoy traded glances.  

As they walked, Spock was struck by how colourful humans were – the houses were painted turquoise and vermillion; tropical flowers grew in the gutters. Washing hung across the street was crimson and gold. Spock found himself thinking of the subdued browns and blue-greys of his homeworld, and shook them out of his head.

He turned to McCoy, walking next to him, and said under his breath, “Doctor, have you ever heard of this Lalla Nørdskov?”

“No.” Bones seemed apprehensive – but then he liked being pessimistic, and Spock found him much harder to read than the captain. “And if he’s working out here … I dunno, Spock. Think Jim’s being played?”

“To be fair to the captain, that would be unusual.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to walk behind you in case a firefight breaks out.”

“As you are taller than me, doctor, I doubt I would provide sufficient cover.”

Bones rolled his eyes.

“Here we are,” said Prince Themba, stopping in front of a battered wooden door that looked the same as every other door on the whole dusty street. He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“Everything all right, your highness?” said Kirk sardonically. The prince flicked them all an apologetic smile.

“Forgive me. It has … been some time since I spoke to Dr Nørdskov. I …”

Princess Neo stepped past her uncle and rapped firmly on the door. Bones turned a laugh into a cough.

They waited on the humid street for a tense few moments. Spock kept his eyes moving. He felt conspicuous in his Starfleet uniform, and it was beginning to get uncomfortably hot under his jacket. Prince Themba fiddled with his translator.

Eventually the door scraped open. An elderly human woman stared at them from the shadows inside the house. She wore a sari and a purple shawl, vibrant against the ashy tones of her skin. She said something in Bengali, but Prince Themba cut her off, speaking the same language through his translator. She eyed them, clearly taken aback.

“Well?” said Kirk tersely.

“Come.” The prince stepped inside and motioned for the others to follow him. Spock traded suspicious stares with the old woman.

“Should have brought Uhura,” Bones said to him in an undertone.

 She led them up a few rickety flights of stairs, lit at irregular intervals by skylights, or possibly holes in the roof. They cast shafts of blinding dusty light through the shadows, making it impossible to see between them. Spock, squinting, put a hand to his temple.

At the top of the stairs they came out into a cloud of warmth and light – through a flurry of leaves and tiny, delicate butterflies, Spock could make out walls and roof made of dirty glass – a greenhouse. The air was heavy with water and something beautiful and aromatic, swirling elusively over the rich scent of the dirt. McCoy caught Spock’s eye, holding up one of the drooping red-edged leaves with questions written in his face. Spock shrugged.

The woman lead them down several rows of plants, raw earth neatly banked over the bricks. They all seemed to be the same kind, tall willowy stems with shiny leaves, mottled crimson and emerald. They made a bushy canopy around the party’s heads.

Then, around a corner in the strange indoor jungle, they came into an open area where the beds of dirt gave way to high-edged tables, standing at hip-height on the dusty brick floor. They were full of pots of vibrantly orange orchids, arranged in neat rows. The beautiful smell intensified. Standing in the middle of the space with a pot in one hand and a syringe in the other was a tall human in plain dirt-spattered clothes, looking around in surprise. They had pure white hair in a mane swept back from their face; the just-receding hairline suggesting the beginning of age. Their skin was a rich copper brown, their eyes almond-shaped. For a second they looked mildly put-out at being interrupted, then they saw Prince Themba and froze.

The old woman said something to the gardener, clearly along the lines of ‘these idiots wouldn’t leave until they saw you’. The gardener blinked a couple of times and replied with a few placating sentences – their voice was soft and accented, though Spock couldn’t pick where from. The woman threw up her hands and left without another word.

There was a blip as Prince Themba switched his translator off. “Lalla?” he said.

Dr Nordskøv put down the syringe and ran their fingers through their hair, leaving flecks of dirt. They let the pot clatter back to the table, hands shaking.

The captain stepped forward. “Dr Nordskøv, do you speak English?”

Nordskøv nodded slowly, their eyes fixed on the Takarians. “Enough.” They turned to the captain, seeming to take in the rest of the party for the first time. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Prince Themba took a few halting steps forward, speaking rapidly in what Spock gathered was Tsont-tarra. It was a melodic, guttural language, full of clicks.

“Well, at least we know the doctor’s real,” muttered McCoy. Spock shushed him.

“They don’t look too happy,” Kirk said, his eyes on Nordskøv’s face. “Wish we knew what his highness is saying.”

Spock glanced down at Princess Neo. She was standing with one hand curled around a table leg, keeping her distance from the Enterprise party. Spock did not know much about children, particularly human ones, but if he could take a guess, he would say that she didn’t like Nordskøv. Or … didn’t _trust_ them?

Nordskøv suddenly held out their hand, palm up. The prince placed his over the top, and they grasped each others’ wrists tightly.

Nordskøv turned to the captain. “Thank you,” they said. “For bringing my friend back to me.”

 

*

 

Meanwhile, in orbit, the bridge was very quiet. Uhura was tapping a thoughtful rhythm on the edge of her chair. Chekov had his arms folded across his console and his chin resting on his hands, watching the glittering day-night transition on Earth below. The second science officer and the tactical officer were chatting softly by the lift.

Sulu studied the little photograph of Ben and Demora he had pinned to the edge of his workstation and sighed. The pair of them were living back on Earth now. Sulu hadn’t seen them in nearly a year, and here he was, within a few hundred miles – not making contact. _Something’s wrong about that._ He’d trust Kirk to hell and back, but …

There was a click and a whirr from Chekov’s station, and the navigator sat up with a start.

“What’s up, Chekov?” said Sulu, glad for the distraction. “Did you figure out what all that beeping was from earlier?”

“I … don’t know.” Chekov frowned, tapping at his screen. “Zey were error messages of some sort, but zey didn’t make much sense – I thought maybe zey were fixed but … We seem to haff some sort of wirus in the seestem – ”

“A _virus_?” Uhura strode over to stand by Chekov’s shoulder. The whole bridge was paying attention now.

“In which system?” asked Sulu.

“I …” Chekov flicked through a rapid series of displays. “Navigation. Signalling. Communications – all – all of them. It was fine a meenute ago – ”

“It’s not compromising our position, is it?” said Uhura, hurrying back to her station.

“Not – not to Earth, I theenk,” said Chekov. “But – ”

“Shit, I think I’m picking up something too,” said Uhura, both hands cradling her earpiece. “Something else – not Starfleet – ” 

“I’m contacting the captain,” said Sulu. He strode over to the captain’s chair and was reaching for the comms switch – when there was a deafening crackle and hiss like a lightning strike and all the lights cut out. “What the …”

There was an almighty _hummmmmm_ as if the whole ship was vibrating. Everyone looked wildly around in the ghost-lit dark, but it seemed to come from all over. There was a lurch; Sulu stumbled against the captain’s chair and nearly fell, and the view of Earth on the screen began to get smaller – fast.

“Someone’s got us in a tractor beam!” yelled Sulu.

“The whole _ship_?” said Uhura. “How – ”

“Mr Chekov, get us out of here,” Sulu ordered, dragging himself into Kirk’s chair.

Chekov was tapping at his blank console in increasing desperation. He slammed a fist on it and everyone jumped. “It’s all dead, sir. Zere’s nohting we can do.”

 

*

 


	4. Friends Help Friends Do Crimes (Part 2)

Kirk was not having a good day. “Where is my goddamn _ship?_ ” he yelled, at no-one in particular, and threw his communicator across the room. Again.

They were in a side room off Dr Nordskøv’s greenhouse-laboratory; a pleasant, brick-walled shed-like space, with shelves of gardening tools and endless dusty boxes. There were a couple of beaten-up couches near the door, and a fraying rug. Spock was seated primly upright on one of the couches, perfect hair and perfect calm at odds with the clutter. Bones was leaning against the doorframe. Kirk was pacing.

It had been more than two hours since he had tried to contact the Enterprise and been met with static. It had been an hour and fifty minutes since they’d stopped joking about Sulu’s incompetence. It had been an hour and ten minutes since they’d sent Dr Nordskøv’s housekeeper to ‘inquire for news’ – after forty minutes of arguing in three languages – and it had been thirty minutes and counting since Kirk had managed to stand still.

McCoy quietly retrieved Kirk’s communicator from the corner, dusted it off, and stuck it in his own pocket. “Jim, we’ve gotta start thinking about going to Starfleet.”

“I disagree,” Spock said. It was the first time he’d spoken since Nordskøv had ushered them in here and politely shut the door (about an hour and eight minutes ago, when Kirk had started getting impatient). Kirk stopped pacing for a second from surprise.

“Oh, now the Vulcan isn’t interested in the regulations?” snapped Bones. “Care to explain – ”

“Gladly. What we need now is information. If Starfleet does have any, they are unlikely to share it with us: most likely we will be immediately placed under arrest, and even if we were not – ”

“I’d do a couple of hours in confinement to find out where my damn ship is,” said Kirk, kicking the corner of a shelf as he passed.

“Yeah, how about a court-martial?” drawled Bones sourly.

“Even if we were not,” repeated Spock, “How do we know that Starfleet itself is not the cause of the Enterprise’s disappearance?”

Kirk glanced at him in passing. “You think the Enterprise got caught?”

“Possibly.”

“But – ”

“But why did nobody contact us. Yes. I believe you and Dr McCoy have been over every variant of this scenario. No, I am suggesting that if anyone in Starfleet knows what happened to the Enterprise, it will be a covert and possibly sinister operation.”

Bones pushed himself upright. “Good God, man, you’re not suggesting a, a conspiracy inside Starfleet? You’re insane.”

Spock shrugged and spread his hand. “I did not say I thought it likely. The more probable option is that Starfleet does _not_ have any information, in which case contacting them would fulfil no reasonable purpose except ruining our respective careers.”

“Well, can’t argue with that.” Kirk kicked the shelf again. It hurt his toe.

“Damn conspiracy theorist,” muttered Bones.

The door to the main greenhouse creaked open. Dr Nordskøv appeared, looking rather sheepish and holding a tray. They edged inside along with a swirl of the beautiful smell of the orchids and kicked the door shut behind them.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” they said. “I’m sorry your ship is missing. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Actually, Dr Nordskøv, there is something you could do for us,” said Kirk, as Nordskøv balanced the tray on the edge of the couch. They handed a cup of tea to Bones, who nodded, and one to Spock, who looked confused.

“Please, what is it?” Nordskøv gave Kirk a mug. He took it, staring into the depths of the tea for a moment while he considered just how blunt he ought to be. _Who cares._

“I want to know just what you know about Prince Themba. Why did he come here, of all places? And why did he insist on coming in secret – as he put it, to protect you? Protect you from who?”

“Whom,” said Spock, very quietly.

Nordskøv fiddled with the tray, taking a few aimless steps back, forward, away from Kirk. “I … I’m not sure that … that’s not my story to tell.”

“Doctor, today I don’t know a hell of a lot. I don’t know what’s happened to my ship and everyone on her; I don’t know how I’m going to get her back; and I certainly don’t know what Starfleet’s going to say about it all. I just want the answers to _one_ mystery. If I can have just a little bit less uncertainty – ”

“I’m sorry captain, I can’t.” Nordskøv met Kirk’s stare. “You deserve an explanation, but I’m afraid it would, it would create more problems than it solved. I’m sorry. It’s best you get your ship back, head back to your scheduled route, and forget this whole affair.”

“Well, that would be nice and all but we’re a bit stuck on the first point,” said Kirk. He politely didn’t bring up the mess they’d left behind on Takar. He could see that Bones wanted to, though, from the faces he was making into his tea.

“Ah, about that.” Nordskøv clasped the tray in both hands, like a shield. “Puja returned a few minutes ago – there’s not much news. She borrowed a station at the local radar office – before you ask, yes, discreetly; it’s her nephew who works there – maybe her nephew’s brother-in-law – anyway, there’s nothing up there.”

“We _know_ that,” said Bones, but Nordskøv held up a hand.

“There was, however, a – a blip in local space, about three hours ago now, it would be. A lot of mass appearing unexpectedly and briefly on the scanner, just for a cycle or two.”

“A ship-sized amount of mass?” said Kirk.

“Mm, more like two or three ships,” said Nordskøv. “But only for, well, seconds. Maybe minutes. I don’t know, does that mean anything to you? I’m not a space-faring fellow.”

The three officers looked at each other. “It _could_ be …” began McCoy, tapping his fingers against his mug. “It could be, almost, a ship dropping out of warp for just a moment? Enough to be picked up on lidar, but not to show any movement into or out of the space? Is that – is that even possible?”

Spock looked thoughtful. “In theory, doctor, yes.”

“Then what – it took the Enterprise with it?” Kirk threw up his hands in frustration. “Then we’re no closer to finding her!”

“On the contrary, captain.” Spock put his tea carefully on the floor and folded his hands in his lap. “Depending on the specifics of the data gathered by this radar station, we could extrapolate the direction of motion of the ship, or ships. And it is possible we could identify the same craft if it ever came across our scanners again.”

Nordskøv smiled and nodded, their hands moving on the tea-tray. “Puja brought home a download of the scans – I’ll bring them up to you.”

Spock caught the captain’s gaze, the corners of his eyes crinkling just the tiniest bit. “Furthermore, we can now virtually rule out, ah, my conspiracy theory. In all likelihood, Starfleet is still in the dark.”

“Oh good, let’s call command,” said Bones, running his hand over his eyes in relief.

“No!” Nordskøv dropped the tray. “No, please. You must not.”

Kirk gave them a long look. “Because it would – create more problems?”

“Yes. Trust me – anyone who knows about this is in danger.”

“Oh great.” Bones drained his mug and made a face. “I’m so pleased that his royal highness decided to drag us into this.” Nordskøv gave him a pained look. “Uh, where are the prince and princess, anyway?”

“Downstairs. We’ve … had some things to talk about.”

“The dangerous things,” said Kirk dryly.

“Yes. Mostly.” A smile tugged at Nordskøv’s mouth. “It’s been awhile since I talked to Prince Themba. I’ve wanted to meet Princess Neo for some time.”

“That’s nice and all, but it doesn’t get us anywhere,” drawled Bones.

“Yup.” Kirk rubbed the bridge of his nose, and reached for his communicator. It wasn’t at his belt. “Bones, give me the – give me the thing. The comm.” Bones tossed it to him. Spock looked up, his eyebrows going up – in hope, Kirk would have said if he hadn’t known the Vulcan so well; it was probably surprise. “I’m not calling in, don’t worry, Dr Nordskøv.”

Bones threw up his hands. “Dammit, Jim, you can’t keep taking strangers’ words on these things – sorry, doctor – why on earth do you think we can trust them?”

Nordskøv shrugged.

“This newfound blind faith is likely to be your undoing,” agreed Spock.

“Look,” said Kirk. “There is something deeply suspicious going on in this corner of the galaxy. At least the three planets of the Takarian Imperium are at stake; possibly more. Whatever this business is it’s come to Earth. It might, thank you Spock, have links to Starfleet. As damn frustrated as I am at you, Dr Nordskøv, and your Takarian friends, I’m pretty fucking sure that you don’t have the whole story, and we’re gonna need your help to get to whoever or whatever is screwing with us. And on top of all of this, someone has taken my damn ship!” He flipped open the communicator and glared around the room. Nordskøv looked taken aback; McCoy, resigned. And if Kirk didn’t know better he’d say Spock looked impressed. A half-grin twitched at Kirk’s mouth. He continued more calmly, “So we’re going to cash in whatever favours I have left and solve this thing. All clear?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” said Bones.

 

*

 

It took a day and a half. All through that time, Kirk kept the hope that the Enterprise would show up, that Uhura or Sulu or Chekov or Scotty or _someone_ would manage to make contact and everything would be okay. Instead they stayed shut up at Nordskøv’s house, drinking tea and trying not to kick the walls down. Nordskøv and the Takarians mostly stayed in the doctor’s workroom, doing who knew what. Tests, Kirk assumed, to see if Nordskøv’s work on SGS was worth anything. Medical things. Bones had offered to be an extra pair of hands, and been politely turned down.

But finally, thirty-nine hours into the one-hour mission, Kirk and Spock were standing in the maglev tube station in Rajshahi East.

“See her anywhere?”

“Captain, she is coming on the 0710 train, which has not yet arrived.”

“Yeah, yeah, Spock.”

It was just the two of them, wearing some of Nordskøv’s spare clothes. Kirk had nabbed the only pair of pants, along with a linen jacket that smelt about a hundred years old. He thought Spock looked rather neat in his sarong and wrap-around shirt. The oversized sunhat that the Vulcan was wearing pulled low over his face and ears, that was a bit less flattering, but he wasn’t going to argue with Spock’s caution any more.

“I confess, I was surprised at Dr Marcus’s willingness to help us. After the events of several years ago, I imagine she has had some difficulty establishing her trustworthiness within Starfleet. This affair …”

“Lucky for us, Carol was on leave,” grinned Kirk. “And even Starfleet officers can do what they want on their own time.”

“That is not strictly true, captain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, here’s the train.”

The station was muggy and crowded, its shabby chrome surfaces styled in fashions that had been in decades ago, and looking like they hadn’t been cleaned since then. Old posters and graffiti made up most of the decoration. The platforms were packed – humans and others, dressed in every kind of clothing and speaking more languages than Kirk could count, and all of them trying to get past each other. As the maglev scraped into its stop, with an almighty hiss that filled the air, people began to move towards it, and Kirk and Spock were swept along.

“See her anywhere?” Kirk yelled over the noise.

“No, there are – there she is, captain.”

Kirk grabbed Spock’s arm and elbowed his way down the train. “Don’t call me captain when we’re trying to be undercover, Spock.”

“No. My apologies, Jim; force of habit.”

Carol Marcus looked like she’d been on holiday, in a floral print sundress and aviators. Her pale blonde hair stood out even half-way down the platform, as she stood like a rock in the crowds, looking around. She’d changed her hair since Kirk had seen her last; into a pixie cut that, Kirk thought, looked great on her.

“Carol,” he said quietly, as they staggered out of the crowds beside her. She spun around, relaxing when she saw them.

“Jim,” she said, sliding her aviators down her nose and flashing him one of her high-voltage smiles. “It was such a surprise to hear from you. In trouble as usual, I gather? And First Officer Spock. I almost didn’t recognize you under that hat.”

“That is the idea, Dr Marcus.”

“Come on, Carol, we’d better get moving. This your bag?” He stooped to pick up the duffle by her feet. She took it and slung it over her shoulder, and the three of them began to push through the crowd towards the doors.

“So, what’s this big favor you want, Jim? Other than dragging me all the way from Bermuda, that is.” Her London accent was a welcome mix of familiarity and exoticness. Kirk felt reassured already.

“We’ll explain later,” said Kirk. He was trying to keep watch on everyone at the station at the same time, and was feeling as jumpy as Bones having a good time. “Once we’re at the house.”

Carol laughed at him, but it was a wary laugh. “You really are in trouble again, aren’t you?” She tugged her bag back up her shoulder and suddenly stopped, staring down the platform with the hint of a frown. “You see that guy?”

“Oh God, you’re as bad as Spock,” groaned Kirk, walking faster. “Which guy?”

“Down there, by the broken turnstiles – brown cloak and hood – they were on the train with me. I got a – odd feeling.”

“The tall narrow one?” Kirk squinted, but he couldn’t make out any features beyond ‘scruffy’ and ‘vaguely pointy’.

“Why would somebody be following Dr Marcus …” said Spock under his breath.

“The real question is who wears a cloak in this heat. C’mon; Carol, you keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t follow us.”

The three of them headed as fast as decorum allowed for the sunshine outside, Dr Marcus glancing every now and then back down the platform. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.

 

*

 

“You are _actually_ insane.”

“We know, Carol. Do you have any ideas?”

The slanted morning sun made Dr Nordskøv’s greenhouse-attic-thing a kaleidoscope of light and orchids. There was a gentle humming of the traffic a few streets away and the tiny butterflies flitted from plant to plant, thick green leaves hanging still in the enveloping heat … all of this at odds with Dr Marcus’s gesticulating, aviators-blazing outrage.

She’d dumped her bag by the door to the side room and was standing over it, planted, an implicit refusal to go any further. The rest of them were arrayed around the greenhouse in various states of dismay.

“Any _ideas?_ For helping you break the law? Oh, no wait, I’ve got a great one – how about I report in like you bastards should have done before I lose my job!”

“Please don’t do that, Dr Marcus,” said Nordskøv in a small voice from the corner.

“Believe me, Carol, we’ve gone through this argument a hundred times over,” said Kirk. He leant against one of the orchid tables and looked at her with a sigh. “But you of all people should know that Starfleet isn’t always infallible.”

“What, no glib crack about how only Jim Kirk can save the day?” she said coldly.

“Ouch,” muttered Bones, propped against the wall with his arms crossed.

Carol ran a hand over her eyes underneath her sunglasses. “I’m sorry. That was harsh.”

“No, that was directed at the captain. You were spot on, doctor.”

“Bones!”

“If I may interject,” said Prince Themba, stepping forwards and tucking his hands in his pockets. He had a presence that made them stop glaring daggers at each other – something more than the fact that he was a head taller than everyone else in the room. “Dr Marcus, your friends are good people. I’ve known them for barely a few days and even I can see that. Now, I don’t know what your history is – just that when Captain Kirk said he needed help, you were the first person who came to mind. These people trust you; please trust them – just for a little while.”

Carol folded her arms slowly. “Fine. A _little_ while. Sorry, who are you again?”

Kirk let out an audible breath. “Alright, great. Carol, thank you. We need you to get us a ship.”

She shot him a Look over her aviators.

“So we can go after the Enterprise,” said Kirk. “We’ve got a probable direction, and something like a radio signature. We’ll figure it out from there.”

“Ah, the captain frequently has last-minute ideas,” said Spock in an undertone to Dr Nordskøv. “I would advise you not to worry; they succeed with surprising regularity.”

“And if that doesn’t work, we can always come back to Earth and stage secret attacks on Starfleet headquarters until they give us information.” Kirk grinned. It had a manic edge to it.

“These ideas are usually, um, unusual,” murmured Spock. “Nothing to worry about.”

Nordskøv put their face in their hands.

“Well, I can’t get you a ship,” said Carol. She took her aviators off at last, flicked them folded, and tucked them in a pocket of her skirt. “But I think I know someone who can. You do collect friends, Jim, I’ll give you that – we’ll see whether you can keep them.”

 

*

 

That evening, in a field outside Rajshahi – and it had been damn difficult to find a deserted flattish area this close to a major population centre – the seven of them stood at the edge of a line of palms watching a space shuttle come in for landing. The air was still thick with the heat of the day, and even out here was acrid with the stench of the city, but underneath tasted of the richness of dirt and forest.

“You know you don’t have to come with, Carol,” said Kirk. He had to shout to be heard over the roaring down the field. The trees behind them and the jungle around the field were shaking in the gale. “You might be more useful back at HQ – looking around for information, y’know?”

“I’ve still got a week of leave left,” replied Carol, her gaze fixed on the glowing lights of the craft, all chrome and black; a gleam in her eyes that was more than just a reflection.

A few feet behind them Nordskøv and the prince were having the same conversation in Tsont-tarra.

“It will be dangerous, Lalla. You owe me nothing.”

“It’s time for me to get out of the city, Your Highness.” Nordskøv flashed a tiny grin. “And I want to see the conclusion of this work. It’s my research I owe, not you.”

“Alright, old friend.”

It was quite dark – the sun set quickly here – and in the velvet blues and greens of the descending evening, the silhouettes of the jungle stark against the last glow in the sky, the spaceship looked very bright – very obvious. Kirk still managed to stumble over several irregularities in the ground as they hurried towards it.

“Careful with my boxes, captain!” called Nordskøv, their long white hair flying about their face with the downdraft.

“Yeah, why don’t you carry them yourself, y’bastard,” muttered Bones, who had been saddled with five of them. Nordskøv had insisted on bringing along the critical parts of his work; samples and vials and cuttings all packed into a plethora of medical-looking cases.

They all staggered through the dying blast from the engines up to a gangway that lowered with a hiss, spewing pale yellow light across the field. Prince Themba towed Princess Neo along by the hand. Kirk watched Spock try to claw his hair back into some semblance of order and smiled.

A familiar figure appeared at the top of the gangway and waved enthusiastically.

“James T!” yelled Jaylah.

“Good to see you, Jaylah.” Kirk dumped his boxes inside the door and gave her a one-armed hug. It had been a while since they’d caught up with her, what with the Enterprise’s missions and Jaylah’s advancement through the Academy. She was wearing a cadet undress uniform, the jacket half-buttoned – it looked eerily similar to the field uniform they’d all been wearing when they’d met her on Altamid, and Kirk had a dizzy moment of warped deja-vu.

“Dr Marcus,” she said, with a nod and a shy smile as Carol came aboard. Carol smiled and touched Jaylah’s elbow, then ushered the Takarians inside, down the cool white corridor. Dr Nordskøv followed, casting a look back over the darkening jungle. Kirk couldn’t say whether they were grateful or regretful or sad, or something else entirely. Bones and Spock brought up the rear and Jaylah hit the control pad. The gangway slid back up with an extended beeping, and suddenly it was quiet inside the ship, like a blow to the ears after all the noise.

“It’s good to see you!” grinned Jaylah, as Bones set his boxes on the floor and Nordskøv hovered, glaring. “But – no Montgomery Scotty?”

“No, Scotty’s on the Enterprise.”

Jaylah nodded, looking grim. “And the Enterprise has been taken.” She clapped Kirk on the shoulder. “I am glad Dr Marcus called me, James T. Together we will get your ship back. Come on.”

“See, Bones, that’s what a real friend’s supposed to say,” laughed Kirk, as Bones began to gather up Nordskøv’s boxes again.

The doctor glared at him. “You do know this is technically a crime, Jaylah? You could get kicked outta the Academy for this.”

Jaylah grinned again, walking backwards down the corridor. “That is what friends are for, no? To help their friends do crimes?” She turned away and immediately spun back again. “Ah, James T! I should call you captain now, I think? Now that we both work for Starfleet?”

“While we all still _do_ work for Starfleet,” murmured Spock.

“She’s my new favourite,” Kirk said. “Just so you guys know.”

 

*


	5. Things Get Really Weird

 

“So … Jaylah, where’d you get this ship?” said Kirk. He was sitting in the co-pilot’s chair in the surprisingly spacious cockpit, his feet up on the control panel. Spock, sitting at the little table tucked into the bulkhead, shot him a glare.

There had been a lot of glaring recently – the captain didn’t seem to pick up on it, but then he rarely did. It had been Spock who had analyzed the read-outs from the radio station in Rajshahi; Spock who had, with Dr Marcus’s help, deliberated co-ordinates for Jaylah’s craft; Spock who was now going over those read-outs on a PADD for the twelfth time … _Jim is very complacent for a man who clearly has no idea what he is doing_. With Kirk that usually meant he was scared and conflicted. Spock, despite his intellect and his superior logic and his knowledge of human emotion in general and the captain in particular, could not figure out how to help him. So he glared. And waited to be noticed.

“It was an old trade shuttle that was left in a scrap yard,” said Jaylah. She was tapping some figures into one of the wall screens. “I repaired it like I did my house.” The lights in the cockpit changed from night-setting to a cheery day-time level. She turned around and stared at Kirk’s feet until he took them off the dashboard, then threw herself in the pilot’s chair.

“I didn’t know cadets got that much free time,” said Kirk, now gently spinning himself from side to side. “Or, y’know, any flying privileges.”

Jaylah propped her own legs up on the dash, watching the flashing lights of warp whirl past. “They don’t. But I’m special.” She flashed the captain a grin. “Home leave, James T – captain! When everyone else goes on holiday, where else should I go? Building ships; that’s home for me. Besides, they go a little easy on me, with the rules – on account of my background, you know.”

“This one might be pushing it a bit far, huh.” Kirk leant his head back and sighed.

“A bit,” agreed Jaylah.

“Are we there yet?” came McCoy’s voice from the doorway.

Spock turned in his seat. “Ah, doctor. How is the rest of the party?”

“The gang,” said Kirk, kicking off from the dashboard and spinning around. “The conspirators.”

“Are you drunk, Jim?”

“Only on the fine wine of a career gone down the drain, Bones.”

“The captain did not get any sleep last night, doctor. Or the night before.” Spock glared, again.

“Well, buck up, Kirk, we need you thinking on this one.”

“Yeah,” sighed the captain.

“Jaylah, I came here to tell you that _Dr Nordskøv_ – ” McCoy drawled the name with a great deal of professional ire – “has set up shop in the infirmary, if you can call a cupboard with a couple of bandaids in it an infirmary, and I need you to tell them to leave. Apparently ‘it’s your ship’ and they won’t listen to me.”

“What is Dr Nordskøv doing in the infirmary?” said Jaylah curiously.

“Damned if I know. Unpacking a bunch of their blasted seedlings. And equipment. There’s something that whirrs and it’s not like any tricorder _I’ve_ ever seen – ”

“Very well, Doctor Bones, I will come and help you.” Jaylah swung her seat around and leapt neatly to her feet. “But I do not know which is this ‘infirmary’ you are worried about.”

“Dammit, Jaylah, no wonder it’s so understocked; every ship’s got to have a med-bay, it’s the law …”

They trailed out, McCoy’s tirade floating away down the corridor. Spock and Kirk were left in silence, broken only by the sharp taps of Spock at the PADD and the squeaking of Kirk’s chair.

“Would you mind, captain,” said Spock abruptly at length. “I find the noise very distracting.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry Spock.”

Silence again. Spock stared down the numbers on his screen; there wasn’t much to go on but he figured that somewhere, _somehow_ , in this data there must be enough to extrapolate what they were up against …

“Are you angry with me, Spock?”

“Of course not, captain. That would be illogical.”

“’Cause it kinda feels like you’re angry at me.”

“I cannot control how you feel, captain.”

A sigh. “I know you’re uncomfortable with this whole situation, Spock. And I sure as hell would be angry at me in your position. It’s … very wrong of me, taking advantage of you guys like this. If we get caught, you’re all going to suffer for decisions I forced on you. I’d be pissed, too.”

“You’re not taking advantage of us, captain. We are all capable of making our own decisions.”

“You can drop the whatever it is, Spock, I’m kind of trying to – HOLY FUCK!”

The smooth wavering lines of warp on the screen abruptly lurched and flickered, and with a mind-bending shower of flashing light, something massive lurched into their warp stream. Kirk flung himself towards the pilot’s controls and wrenched the control column sideways. They went hurtling starboard in a screaming spin and crashed out of warp. A heavy blow caught their flank and the shuttle jolted. Spock felt a sharp pain in his ribs as he was thrown into the table, and suddenly found himself sprawled on the ground.

“Spock! Are you okay?”

“Hhnngmrghh,” said Spock, then managed to roll over. “I’m fine, Jim,” he gasped. “Just … winded … what happened?”

Spock thought his head was spinning, but as he struggled upright he realized that it was the cabin; the ship was still drifting in an arc away from the impact and the artificial gravity was yet to catch up.

The captain levered himself up using the control panel and they both stared out at the screen. “What the …”

In front of them, slowly rotating as their shuttle turned, was a massive, vast – it could only be a ship. It was the size of a mountain, the size of – it baffled description. It was not a Federation ship. Nor was it Klingon, or Romulan. It was angular, more or less the shape of two enormous triangles meeting in a prow like a cliff-face … in the empty starlight it looked a dull bronze colour. Spock could not tell where the bridge might be. It loomed across the whole viewscreen.

“My God,” said a quiet voice behind them.

Spock turned. Dr Marcus was standing in the doorway, a hand to her throat. Behind her were Bones and Dr Nørdskov, Lalla supporting themself on McCoy’s shoulder – he looked more put out by that than by the unknown threat. But Carol’s face held a kind of horror, the ochre light of the sight on the screen glazed over her wide eyes.

“What the hell is that?” said McCoy.

“What the hell did it do to our ship?” snapped Kirk. He pushed himself away from the console, staggered a few steps and caught his balance. “Where’s Jaylah – is she alright? What about the others?”

“They’re okay,” said McCoy. “We came to check on you. Hey, is that red flashing light supposed to be on?”

Everyone’s eyes went to the console. “Mm,” said Kirk. “I think there’s a hull breech.”

“You _think_?” said Dr Nørdskov. Their fingers dug into McCoy’s jacket.

“Well, Jaylah’s console system is a little weird, but – ”

“Dr Marcus and I shall find Jaylah and deal with the issue,” said Spock.

“Good. And send the Takarians in here – Dr Nørdskov, stay. We’ll figure out what to do next … Bones, see if you can hail them …”

Spock put a gentle hand on Carol’s shoulder and steered her out of the cabin. “Make haste, Dr Marcus; we may not have much air left.”

“Yeah. Of course.” She ran a hand over her eyes, shook her head, and set off at a run towards the sickbay. Spock followed.

They found Princess Neo trying to apply a sticking plaster to Jaylah’s forehead, which was dripping blue blood, while the prince hunted through the cupboards for something more effective.

“Jaylah,” said Spock. “We think there is a pressure breech.”

She leapt to her feet. “James T! You have broken my ship!”

“Come on, let’s deal with it first – you can kill him later,” said Dr Marcus, seizing her hand and dragging her to her feet. “I’ll help,” she added grimly.

“Where is the breech?”

“We’re not sure – there was a light on the console – ”

“Blue?”

“What – ”

“Which colour?”

“Red,” said Spock. Jaylah nodded.

“Ah, the breech is in engine level. Come on.”

“ _That’s_ how you organize your warning lights?” shrieked Carol, as Jaylah grabbed Spock’s hand and hared off down the corridor. She turned to the Takarians. “Stay here – no, Kirk wants you on the bridge!” And ran before they could recover their voices.

On such a small shuttle, there was no ‘engine level’ as such – Carol caught up with the others as Jaylah was levering a panel from the floor. A hissing sound, almost unnoticeable beforehand, suddenly became loud and worrying.

“Yup, there is a breech.” Jaylah vaulted into the hole and, ducking, made her way between some piping.

“You sound more pleased than reason accounts for,” said Spock, following more carefully.

“Did anyone bring a torch?” said Carol.

It was stuffy in the bowels of the ship, humid and unpleasantly warm, and very loud. There was a regular creaking noise and the clangs of moving metal, but more sinister was that hiss, like a large and venomous snake waiting in anger around the corner …

A beam of light snapped on in front of them and both Spock and Dr Marcus flinched away, covering their eyes.

“Sorry!” said Jaylah with a grin, and turned the torch away. “Mr Spock, please carry this.” She pulled an emergency repair kit from its socket on the wall – that at least seemed regulation – and tossed it to him. “Follow me!”

They wended their way through a hunched-over labyrinth of sharp corners and tubes and vents. Jaylah seemed to know where she was going even without the torch-light. She held it at her side and the beam waved around erratically, throwing shadows.

“Jaylah, you’re not worried about the warp core?” called Carol as they slithered over a bundle of cables on the floor.

“No – it’s the other way. We would have known by now if the core was damaged, Dr Marcus, do not worry!”

Spock heard Carol mutter “Great,” very quietly.

The air was getting thinner. Spock could tell because his throat was getting tight, tired, struggling to bring in enough oxygen. Something like a breeze was tugging at his hair, a stream flowing from the warmth behind to a distinct chilliness from the crawl-space ahead.

“Here we go,” said Jaylah, quieter than usual. She swung onto her hands and knees in front of a curved wall, clearly the edge of the engine space. Spock squeezed in behind her and Carol crouched outside. There was a crack running up the wall, hairline-thin and barely visible, but unmistakable. It ran from below the floor right across the paneling, disappearing in several branches behind the equipment and the level above. Spock’s ears popped from the dropping pressure.

Jaylah dropped the torch and ran her hands alongside the crack, keeping a careful distance between it and her fingers. She was muttering to herself. Spock shifted, his heels already digging uncomfortably into his legs, and flipped open the emergency kit. It all looked unfamiliar. In the stark light Jaylah’s face was in strange relief, from the blue blood smeared across her white-and-black face to the princess-themed plaster on her forehead.

She crouched back. Spock wordlessly pushed the kit forward but she ignored it, just chewing on her thumbnail.

“Is it bad?” came Carol’s voice behind them. “It looks small?”

“The crack is okay, I think,” said Jaylah. She scrabbled up the torch, shone it up and down the fissure – as the light hit it just right, Spock could see the tiny streams of air draining away. Jaylah sighed, suddenly looking close to tears. “I could patch it up, not too bad. But that’s not the problem.”

“What is?” said Carol, her voice tight.

“This wall – between here and outer hull is mass deflector circuitry. Shielding outputs. They are snapped now.”

“We are unable to reach warp?” Spock felt a chill that had nothing to do with the vacuum leaking into the space. With a huge ship of unknown weaponry and intent right on top of them …

“It’s more bad than that,” said Jaylah, and sniffed. “These circuits are kept away out of the atmosphere area for a reason. Now that they are surrounded by oxygen …”

“They’re a fire risk,” finished Carol.

“Not just ‘risk’,” said Jaylah. “We have to leave this ship.”

 

*

 

“There aren’t any lifeboats on this vessel?” said Kirk, pinching the bridge of his nose.

They were all back in the central cabin. Dr Marcus and Spock had done most of the explaining; Jaylah had sat herself at the table and didn’t seem to want to speak. She was leaning her head against the cabin wall as if saying goodbye.

“There isn’t even a med-bay on this vessel, Jim, what do you think?” snapped Bones. Both Kirk and Spock shot him a look. “Sorry, Jaylah.”

“No lifeboats,” said Jaylah listlessly. “This is a shuttle-class, James T; it’s not big enough.” She looked up at last. “But – there is a transporter pad.”

“But where would we beam to?” said Dr Nørdskov. They caught the glance between Spock and the captain. “Oh. Oh _no_.”

“I’m afraid it’s that or stay here and die in a massive and inevitable explosion,” drawled McCoy. “Your highnesses, I’d advise you to get your things together and meet us at the transporter room.”

Prince Themba nodded, his arm tucked around Princess Neo’s shoulders.

“I – ” began Nørdskov, raising a hand.

“Dr McCoy will help with your stuff, Dr Nørdskov,” said Kirk.

McCoy mumbled something under his breath.

“Quickly, people!” said Kirk, and the four of them hurried off. “Alright, Spock, what are we missing? Don’t forget that PADD, we’ll need it. Uhh, what else?”

“We do not have anything else, captain.”

“Jaylah, what do you need to take?”

Jaylah pulled herself slowly to her feet. “I shall fetch a bag,” she said, staring straight ahead, then sniffed again and dashed out. Kirk stared after her, jaw clenched.

“I’ll go with her,” said Dr Marcus from the co-pilot’s chair. She stood up but Kirk reached out to touch her elbow.

“Carol, are you alright? You seem – ”

“Fine, thanks.” She pulled away and left.

“Captain, what do we know about what we’re beaming into?”

“Not much. When we hailed them all we got was static.”

“Perhaps the impact damaged them as well.”

They both stared at the behemoth, now tilted sideways to their little shuttle at about a thirty degree angle. One wing loomed over them like the end of the world.

“Well, they haven’t moved …”

 Spock tucked the PADD under his arm. “Let’s go find out why.”

 

*

 

_Meanwhile, a very long way away …_

Sulu was pacing. Up and down and up and down and up and down … by now he felt he knew every inch of the cell they were in. Chekhov had estimated it had only been three days, but it felt like years.

It was a long, weird room. Long in the sense that Sulu would have called it a corridor, except that clearly it was not. Weird in the sense that, despite the fact it was almost certainly on a spaceship, it had been decorated like a nineteenth century Earth library.

The lower part of the walls was paneled in some kind of light wood – that alone made Sulu’s head spin with the wastefulness and expense. Above that it was white plaster, with honest-to-god watercolor paintings hanging at intervals. Little bucolic woodland scenes that seemed just a little bit off, somehow. There was a thick carpet running down the middle of the floor, in winding red and blue patterns. And there were couches. Old leather ones. The crew liked the couches. They were lounging around in little cliques – here the wardroom staff, here the archivists, napping with their heads propped against the arms; here the science division, one of whom had somehow brought a pack of cards and who had been playing a game of Snap for two and a half days straight; here the engineering staff, who had dragged three couches together and made some sort of unholy fortress … and the end of the corridor. Sulu tapped the paneling and turned mechanically. Another minute and fifty-three seconds and he’d be back at the other end …

At his right hand was a force screen, a shimmering blue-green barrier which was the only thing to remind him that he was in the 23rdcentury. On the other side of the barrier the room-corridor looked much the same; same carpet, same paneling, identical paintings; but there were no couches and instead other corridors led off from it, and doors. Every now and then they would see people moving around out there. No-one had been able to tell so far if they were human or something else.

The whole crew was present in the corridor-room cell thing. It had been hours of chaos, all of them escorted off the Enterprise by soldiers in black masks that hid every trace of species and identity, all of them passed through scanners, airlocks, then all left in this room … it had taken them a while to account for everyone. There had been a few fights, swiftly quieted. Sulu knew that those who had been there the year before on Altamid – which was many of them – had a lot of uncomfortable context. He felt strangely fine, though. Unreal. So far there was no Krall to hurt his crew. No-one had been murdered. No-one had even been hurt. It had been the neatest capture of a ship and crew he had ever heard of, and they still didn’t have a goddamn clue who was behind it. Except for the fact that whoever it was clearly had an Aesthetic.

The bridge crew had set up camp on the couch at the other end of the cell-corridor-room. Uhura was lying with her head up on one armrest, her legs resting on the lap of Livingstone, the second science officer, who was napping sitting upright. Chekov was lying on the ground with an arm over his face.

“Zere should be food een about half en hour,” he mumbled as Sulu approached. Food had appeared every twelve hours (estimated Chekhov) – basic ration bars that were just beamed into the cell.

“Anything new?” drawled Uhura.

“Yeah, they’re handing out pancakes at the other end.” Sulu tapped the wall and turned to go back. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a door near their end of the corridor flung open. Sulu spun around. Chekhov and Uhura sat up. Livingstone began to snore.

Three people in black, masks on, strode into view. They stopped in front of the bridge crew, looking weird and warped behind the forcefield. Chekhov scrambled to his feet.

“Where are the prince and princess?” said the figure in front, the shortest one. If Sulu had had to guess he would have said the voice was female.

“Who are you? Why are you keeping us here?” said Uhura, getting to her feet, her eyes flashing. Chekhov scooted out of her way.

“Where are they? Tell us. We have searched your ship, twice; we have scanned your crew. Where are Prince Themba and Princess Neo?”

“We have no idea who you are talking about,” snapped Sulu.

“There were three hundred and thirteen life signatures on board your ship when it was taken by our tractor beam. Your manifest lists two hundred and seventy-three crew and twenty-eight animals and your log records taking on three living trilobites for study at Station Quera. There are nine unaccounted for. Your captain, your first officer and your medical officer are missing. Where are they? Where are the prince and princess, and the other four life signs? We know they were on board. You will tell us where they are.”

“Sorry, can’t help you,” said Sulu. He could see nothing but dark eyes behind the mask.

“You will. You have half an hour. When we come back, you will tell us what happened to the nine missing, or your crew will regret it.”

The three of them left. Uhura, Chekhov and Sulu stared at each other. Livingstone mumbled a bit and slowly keeled over sideways into the space Uhura had vacated.

“Holy shit what?” said Sulu.

“They – they clearly think – ”

“How were zey scanning us?”

“Holy shit?”

“Whatever it was it clearly wents wrong – ”

“Holy shit?!”

“It was ze treebles,” said Chekhov suddenly. They looked at him. “Ze treebles. Zat were een the communicator cupboard. Zey weren’t on our manifest.”

“Would it …” said Sulu.

“Whatever they were scanning with, it was picking up hamsters and goldfish in people’s cabins. Yeah, it would pick up a nest of tribbles.”

“They thought that the leader of the Takarian Empire and his heir were on board our ship because we had a tribble infestation?”

“Zis means ze keptin is somewhere out zere and zey don’t know.”

“This is – this is the best thing that could have happened.”

“Holy. Shit.”

“Now we just have to find sometheeng to tell … whoever zey are.”

“Wake up, Livingstone!” said Uhura, her eyes alight in quite a different manner. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Snnrk,” said Livingstone, jerking upright and blinking. He ran his hands through his red hair, making it stick up at all angles. “Finally.”

“Of course … if we _can’t_ find something …” said Sulu.

Uhura put a hand on his shoulder. “We will.”

 

*

 

The big ship was empty. They roamed through corridors that looked like they were out of Earth history. Jaylah and Princess Neo didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with the wood paneling and the carpets, but the others traded looks. No-one seemed willing to say anything, as if by not acknowledging it the weirdness might go away.

“You know the worst of it?” McCoy murmured to Spock, as they trailed the captain up a sweeping flight of stairs. “No windows.”

There were no windows, but Spock did not think that was the worst of it.

At the top of the stairs they finally found what might have been the bridge. It was on a grand scale, as with the rest of the ship – a viewscreen that took up a whole wall, two stories high; a vista of stars that towered over them. For some reason, putting that unimaginable infinity in such a large frame brought the scale home. Spock caught his breath, just for a moment.

“Well, at least we know there are Klingons involved,” said Carol. She gestured to the ragged banners hanging at the side of the room – gold and scarlet, with the Heart of Virtue splashed across them.

“Looks like a Klingon splinter group,” said Kirk, glancing at them. The place was dimly lit, only by the starlight slanting in from that vast screen and by a few blinking lights, an artificial twilight. It cast strange, long shadows. The room was filled with an eclectic collection of furniture and art: full-length paintings propped against cabinets that could have been from Victorian Earth; a marble statue wrapped in sputtering fairy lights.

Jaylah tossed the bookend she had picked up onto a nearby armchair. “There are Klingon splinter groups?”

“What, you think that everyone in that empire gets along?” Kirk grinned. “Ah, I think this is the control panel.” Towards the window there was a dip; in the dim light of space a few table-sized shapes were visible. They were too angular, at odds with the kitschy historical aesthetic. Kirk strode down the carpeted steps and waved a hand over one of them. A series of blue holograms leaped into existence above it. “Hmm.”

“So, which splinter group is this the ship of?” said Jaylah, wandering up beside Spock. Now she was tossing a blown glass ball from hand to hand.

“Unclear,” said Spock. He tucked his hands behind his back. “I would hazard a guess at a scion of the House of Mogh.”

“So where are they all?”

McCoy came to lean against the desk on Spock’s other side. “Jaylah, someday soon you’ll realise that Spock really doesn’t know everything.”

There was a startled exclamation from Kirk. Spock dashed without a second thought down to the control deck, where the captain was bending over something – a figure slumped against the far panel, long legs splayed out in front of it …

There was a person leaning against the console. Their hands were clasped over a spreading bloodstain over their stomach and a dark trickle ran from the corner of their mouth. Their skin was wan and ashy in the thin light. Dark hair fell across their face. And their face – their ears were pointed, like a Vulcan. Dark eyes like Spock’s. But their face was sort of – ridged, along the brow and strong nose, and there was something about their mouth that suggested large incisors. Spock stopped dead.

Bones appeared and dropped to his knees next to Kirk. “Good God, they’re still alive,” he said. The alien’s eyes followed him. Their chest rose and fell, so shallowly. “Hey – hey, can you hear me? We’re gonna help you. Don’t worry, you’re alright. It’s going to be alright.” He turned to the captain, hands going automatically to check the stranger’s pulse at their neck. “Jim, what medical supplies do we have?”

“I’ve got some,” said Dr Nørdskov, skidding around the other side of the console. They caught and held McCoy’s eye; some technical understanding passed between them and McCoy nodded.

“Let’s get ’em laid out straight, see what we can do about the bleeding,” said Bones. “Jim, shift your ass – we need Dr Nørdskov’s gear.”

“On it,” said Kirk. “Spock! Come on!”

Spock tore himself away. They ran towards the door, where McCoy had dumped Nørdskov’s cases. The others were already there.

“Which ones?” said Prince Themba.

“I don’t know. Bring all of them.” Kirk grabbed a box.

“Careful!” The prince threw out a hand.

“Alright!”

The five of them ferried Dr Nørdskov’s gear over to the two doctors. The stranger, the alien was lying flat now, looking somehow more pathetic – they were dressed in all black in some pseudo-military style, but with their long limbs and with hair splayed about their face, it made them look small and abandoned.

Nørdskov was throwing open cases and rifling – carefully, carefully – through samples and cuttings. Spock stepped out of the way, then out of the way again.

Kirk was standing a little way off, his back against the vast viewscreen. It was hard not to think of it as just a window, onto the whole universe. The captain was looking in at the room, though. Spock came to stand beside him.

“Jim. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Spock. This is weird, I’ll give you that, but at least we’ve got a lead now, right?”

“That is true. I confess, I …” Spock trailed off. He was feeling thrown – something about the sudden blood, the visceral _off_ -ness of this ship, this room … no. The familiar-yet-foreign stranger, like a Vulcan but corrupted somehow; that was his problem. But to confide as much in Jim, with so much on the captain’s shoulders at this moment, it would be – unprofessional.

“What, Spock?”

 _Aren’t we past the point of professional? Are we ever? Will we ever be?_ “I am glad to hear you have some confidence in the situation, captain.”

Jim leaned his head sideways and looked up at Spock. Side-lit, with a billion stars and the ghost of a smile dancing in his eyes, he paused a long moment then said, “Well, you know me, Spock; I’m only confident when I have a reason to be.”

“Do I take it that means you have a plan, Jim?”

“Of course I have a plan.”

 

*

 


	6. Kirk Absolutely Does Not Have a Plan

“Well, Kirk’s finally lost it.”

“Kirk – as in captain-of-the-Enterprise Kirk?”

“What other Kirks do you know?”

“Well, shit. What’s he done?”

“As far as I can tell? Blown up a diplomatic docking station on Takar, gone AWOL with his whole ship, then been sighted running around in Bangladesh, on Earth, two days later. No sign of the Enterprise, no word to Command, nothing.”

“In Bangladesh?”

“ _That’s_ the part of this you find strange?”

“Well, I mean …”

“He’s spiraling out in the most destructive way possible. If the rest of the Federation gets word of this kind of chaos, it’ll be a disaster. Not to mention the fact that we’re down a starship and a famous top-class crew.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Mm, guess again.”

“… _I’ve_ got a bit of a problem?”

“Bingo.”

“Dammit.”

“Sort it out. Get me a report ASAP. Oh, and Finchly – ”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to make it any worse.”

 

*

 

The big ship had a med-bay. In fact it had several; Kirk had managed (mostly by accident, which he was keeping from Spock) to call up a schematic on the ship’s computer. It was written in Klingon, but between Bones, Spock and Prince Themba they had identified the words ‘medical’, ‘level 5’ and ‘elevator’.

Bones loved the med-bay. It was big, it was well stocked, it had space and then some for Dr Nørdskov’s experiments to be shoved to the side and ignored. As Kirk had half-expected, it was styled like a twentieth century Earth hospital – bright white walls, long rows of cots with crisp white sheets, even white drapes that fluttered in a deviously engineered breeze. The windows looked like they had real sun shining on them. Fortunately all the equipment was modern, just stowed tactfully out of sight.

The two doctors were still in the operating theatre next door, with – whatever the hell it was. Kirk had been brusquely shoved out the door by Carol when he’d tried to check up on them an hour ago. Why they trusted Carol to be their assistant and not him was beyond him. Well, no it wasn’t. He’d instead gone for a wander, steps gravitating naturally back to the weird twilight of the bridge. Being there alone was a little scary – that kind of side-lit clutter hid too many shadows. He poked at the computer terminals until they flashed error messages and static.

The thing was, until the alien woke up – if they woke up – he couldn’t think of a damn way to move forward. If they could get the big ship moving – but they still didn’t know where they were. If they could figure that out – but they still didn’t know where the _Enterprise_ had been taken. They weren’t dead or currently being shot at, but that was about all that could be said for their situation. At least the life-support systems seemed to be functioning.

At the point where he was unscrewing panels from the walls to look for clues – any clues – Kirk realized he was going nowhere. He filched a couple of disks and a reader from a nearby Victorian wardrobe – _might as well maintain the illusion of having done something useful_ – and stomped back down to medical, kicking at the wainscotting on the way.

When he came in the room was quiet and tranquil, almost empty. Kirk felt the golden light like a breath of sweet, unfiltered air. It was like stepping back into Earth. Spock was sitting on the edge of a cot looking out one of the sunny ‘windows’, his back straight and one leg swinging. He hadn’t said much since they’d found the alien. Kirk tossed the disks on a bedside table and went up the aisle towards him. He meant to fling himself down on the same bed behind Spock but something in him chickened out, and instead he plonked down on the cot one over.

“Hey, Spock. You doing okay?”

“I am doing fine, captain.” Long pause. Spock was staring out at the fake sunlight beyond the gauze as if there might be something really there, not just a few floodlights and some pretty design. Just as Kirk was opening his mouth, Spock tore his eyes away and smiled ruefully. “There are some elements of our situation that I find – stranger than ordinarily strange, Jim.”

“That makes perfect sense to me,” sighed Kirk.

“In particular, the unknown alien. Despite the clear Klingon nature of this ship – ”

“Or parts of it – ”

“ – the only potential crew-member we have encountered is clearly something else.”

“Or something else _and_ ,” said Kirk. He lay down on one elbow and looked at Spock, at the faint lines of concern at the sides of his eyes. “You’re worried this guy is half-Klingon, half-Vulcan, right? It doesn’t take a genius to work it out.”

“Why should I be worried, captain? Surely I, if anyone, can appreciate that being half-Vulcan is perfectly natural.”

Kirk shrugged. “But at least humans are part of the Federation, right? At least Vulcans and humans are, are closely aligned. And worry’s an irrational thing.” Spock frowned at him but Kirk cut him off, laughing a little. “Alright, maybe worry’s the wrong word. Let’s say you’re … questioning certain facts you always took for granted. You’re wondering whether, maybe, you chose the path you did because one half of you is human, and if it had been something else, you might have been – predestined – to pick a different side.”

“You are … more correct than incorrect, Jim.”

Kirk rolled onto his back, bouncing on the pillows. He grinned and shook his head. “Jeez, Spock, you’re incapable of admitting it, huh?”

“Admitting what?”

“That I’m right. You can’t say it. Something in your little green brain just cuts you off – Bones!”

Kirk swung up to sitting again and Spock turned around. Bones had come out to lean against the door to the surgery, tiredly pulling off his gloves. He raised a weary hand.

“Well, good news, our new friend is gonna be fine. Which is more than I can say for the rest of us.”

“What is it?” said Spock. “Is the ship in difficulties?”

“You guys haven’t managed to break this one too already?”

“Does the alien have some kind of infectious disease?”

“Will you two calm down?” Bones tossed his gloves in the bin and strode down the aisle, running his hands through his hair. “All I meant was that they’re clearly Klingon-affiliated of some stripe, and that would sure spell bad news for us if they have any friends in the area. After all, it looks like we’ve taken the ship. Violently.” He keeled over on the cot on Spock’s other side and pulled a pillow over his head.

“What, all eight of us?” sneered Kirk, and threw his own pillow at Bones. “Cheer up, doctor. When this guy wakes up they can tell us what happened to them and all the rest of the crew.”

“And possibly about the curious décor,” added Spock. “When will the patient be awake?”

“Mmm, pretty soon,” said Bones, somewhat muffled. “Lalla – I mean, Dr Nørdskov – is running some basic checks now. The surgery went better than expected, given that they were stabbed so close to their heart. Only took us an hour to patch up the internals; the rest was just cleaning up. God, I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve slept in thirty hours. Forty? Oh, hey, Spock – I’ve just figured out why it felt familiar. The wound was very similar to your injury last year, on Altamid. You don’t suppose this fellow’s part Vulcan, do you?”

Kirk facepalmed.

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” said Spock loudly, and Kirk glanced up. Prince Themba and Princess Neo were in the doorway to the corridor, Princess Neo clutching her stuffed animal again. Kirk pushed himself to his feet and Spock followed suit. McCoy clawed the pillow off his face.

“I thought you were both going to get some sleep,” said Kirk. The prince smiled and held up a hand, then flicked the translator at his neck back on. Kirk repeated himself. He found himself talking slower and louder, and wasn’t sure why.

“We had some sleep, thank you,” said Prince Themba. “Jaylah is still sleeping but we thought it better to let her have her rest. My niece wished to see how the patient is doing.”

Kirk glanced at McCoy, who had managed to lever himself up onto his elbows. He raised an eyebrow and Bones shrugged. “It’s not too gruesome in there any more, Jim; she can have a look if she really wants to.”

“Thank you,” said Prince Themba, with only the slightest sarcastic intonation. “Which way, ah …”

“The surgery’s over here. I’ll come too, actually; Bones says they might be waking up soon. Spock, come with.” As Kirk strode past McCoy’s cot, he reached out and shoved the doctor back on his back. “For God’s sake, Bones, get some sleep.”

The surgery was dimly lit, the big lights overhead turned away and only a small lamp by the bedside casting light over the operating table, empty now but spattered with greenish blood. Nørdskov had their back to them, sorting something from one of their cases across a bench and whistling tunelessly between their teeth. The figure in the recovery bed looked wan and pale, but they had a bit more colour now that they were out of their black uniform.

“Lalla,” said Prince Themba, and drew the doctor into a quiet conversation. Kirk glanced between the operating table and the young princess, trying to see if she was upset by the sight. She just looked thoughtful, holding her toy loosely in both hands.

“You see the resemblance, captain?” murmured Spock.

“Actually,” said Kirk, “No.”

The princess took a few steady steps towards the bed, her eyes fixed, the cool light of the lamp sliding off them.

“Oh – hold on, uh, princess – don’t get so …” Kirk reached for her shoulder and then thought better of it, but she stopped just by the bedside. One small hand reached out, ashy in the harsh light, to rest beside the alien’s hand on the sheet.

“Vorhalas,” she said quietly.

The room went silent as they all looked at her. Neo was still staring levelly at the figure in the bed as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Kirk was suddenly struck by the fact that it was only the second time he had heard her speak.

“Uh, what?” he said.

 

*

 

Chekhov and Sulu had built a fort out of couch cushions. Uhura thought it was childish, and said so.

“Look,” said Sulu, poking his head out the entrance and squinting up at her, “There’s about a one hundred percent chance that they’re monitoring us in here – audio, visual, whatever. This is the best way of covering our conversations. Now, pass me my jacket, would you? The walls are too bland, they need a bit of yellow.”

“Besides, ze engineering squad have got one,” said Chekhov. He balanced the last cushion on the roof and stood back, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction.

“Ugh,” said Uhura, and kicked Sulu’s jacket inside for him.

Livingstone came trotting up with a couple of pillows commandeered from the security team just down the corridor-cell-whatever you called it. “I found Ensign Al-Mofty; she said she’d pass on the news to the rest of the bridge crew. You sure you didn’t want me to call them all together? More minds, light work, sort of thing?”

“I’m sure,” said Uhura. She waved vaguely at the force-screen separating them from the rest of the ship. “We don’t want to alarm Them too much. Besides,” she added dryly, “we wouldn’t all fit in Sulu’s cone of silence here.”

Livingstone passed the pillows through to Sulu and they all crawled inside.

“Mind the top of the arch, it’s not very stable,” said Sulu peevishly, but they all managed to settle themselves without anything falling down.

Sulu tucked his jacket across the entranceway like a curtain. It was dark and stuffy inside the fort, and Uhura couldn’t sit up straight. Her lower back was already sore.

“Alright,” said Sulu. His voice dropped automatically to a whisper. “Here’s the deal. These historical nutbars are clearly after the Takarian prince and princess, and possibly the captain too. Obviously we can’t give them up. So, we’ve got just under half an hour to figure out some way to stop Crazy Jane Austen and their friends from hurting the crew.”

“Actually, Jane Austen was a contemporary author. She didn’t write historical fiction,” said Livingstone.

“Shut up, Lieutenant. What are the duties of a captured officer? Anyone?”

“Survive, escape, sabotage,” said Chekhov promptly.

Sulu nodded. “So. Number one, survive. Give me ideas, guys.”

“Well, what are our advantages?” said Uhura slowly, trying to think out loud. “The captain and the others are somewhere not on this ship, at liberty. They’ll be trying to rescue us, and, uh, Crazy Jane Austen and company don’t know that. That’s good.”

“Of course, they don’t have the _Enterprise_ or really any means of transportation, and if they go to the authorities for help they’ll likely end up court-martialled,” said Sulu.

“As if that would stop Captain Kirk,” said Livingstone loyally.

Chekhov shook his head. “And remember, ze keptin is not by heemself. Commander Spock and Dr McCoy are out zere too. Zat’s basically ze same team zat rescued us on Altamid.”

“So, assuming nothing untoward happened on – at those coordinates they beamed to, we’ve got a rescue team coming.” Sulu scratched his eyebrow and shifted in the cramped space. “Possibly, even, if the captain, uh, saw sense, all the might of Starfleet.”

Uhura stretched her legs into the space Sulu had just abandoned. “Of course, if they haven’t arrived in the past few days, the odds of them showing up in the next fifteen minutes are … not great.”

A moment of glum silence passed as everyone acknowledged this.

“So we’re more or less back where we started,” said Livingstone.

“Okay, options,” said Uhura. “Number one – we figure out some fake story to feed them, buy ourselves a bit of time.”

“Like?” Sulu nudged her ankle with his knee, but Uhura didn’t budge.

“Like, hmm, the captain and the others escaped the _Enterprise_ undetected, stole a shuttle and headed for the nearest Starfleet base?”

“Think they’ll believe that?”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“ _Please_ move your legs.”

“No.”

“Somezing zat’s been bothering me,” said Chekhov suddenly, “Is, well, zis whole situation.”

They all stared at him. “You wanna elaborate on that?” said Livingstone.

“Uh,” said Chekhov, rubbing his nose and frowning. “It’s – zey have zis scanner, no? Picks up all the lifesigns on board. But zey can’t feegure out zat zere might be another explanation for why ze keptin and ze others aren’t here. Even – zey have a ship zat looks like, well, zis; but zey dress like, uh, I don’t know much about Jeyn Orsten but I don’t think she dressed like zat.”

“What’s your point?” said Uhura.

“I think zey have all zis technology but zey don’t know how to use it. I think zey have zis ship but it doesn’t belong to zem.”

The silence that greeted this pronouncement was broken by a sharp rap on the floor outside the entrance. Livingstone started, and Sulu hissed “Careful!” as the cushions shuddered.

“Oi!” called a voice from outside. “Is this, by any chance, the top secret meeting that no-one invited us to?” Scotty’s head appeared through the makeshift curtain. Behind him was Keenser, looking put out – but Uhura thought the little alien always looked put out.

Scotty squeezed inside, forcing Livingstone to squish right into Sulu. Uhura pulled her legs back before someone sat on them.

“Oh, careful – _careful_ ,” Sulu was muttering. After a lot of complaining, everyone quieted down, much more uncomfortable than before. Keenser peeked inside.

“No room for you,” said Scotty. “Keep watch outside.” Keenser threw up his hands.

“Scotty, what – ” began Sulu, but Scotty held up an accusatory finger.

“How come,” he said, “how come ah have ta find oot from Al-Mofty that you lot are holding a nice little council of war in your cute little clubhouse, and nobody thought, oh, y’know what, we might need our Chief Engineerin’ Officer here?”

“We were trying not to cause suspicion,” said Uhura weakly. “If everyone could think of solutions in their own little groups …”

“Also we were worried about suffocating,” choked Livingstone, who was sandwiched between Scotty and Sulu.

“As it happens,” said Scotty, “Ah _do_ have a solution for you – ”

“What?”

“Really?”

“ – and ah’ll share it if you all stop sounding so surprised,” he growled. “Us folks over in the engineering division haven’t been sitting aboot on our asses like some people. Every seven and a bit seconds, that forcefield’s got a little jump. Nothing you’d see – well, not that y’can really see the field – anyway, every seven and a bit seconds, there’s a power fluctuation, just a blip, like the whole thing’s resetting. Now, tha’ should be familiar – no? Good lord, it’s almost like none of you have studied engineering your whole lives.”

“We’re sorry, Scotty, just get on with it,” groaned Uhura.

“Well, to _me_ and my team, that short periodic jump means the field is probably generated by Alfa-Bajer scramblers – cheap and nasty, and short-range. Pick ’em up at any hardware shop. Though the mark II has some – anyway, what we’re dealing with is not your typical prison-grade set-up.”

“That goes with Chekhov’s theory,” said Sulu. He and Chekhov exchanged nods.

“Well, more importantly, it’s pretty easy to sabotage. All you’ve gotta do is wait until the jump, then jam some wires doon the transmitter ports. Any sort of wire’ll do. Of course, you can only reach them if you time it just right, and you’ve got to get all three in at once to short the scrambler, but if you can – ”

“Do we have any wire?” asked Chekhov breathlessly.

In the half-light, Uhura could have sworn Scotty smirked. He pulled a three-pronged twist of metal from his pants pocket, which would have been a dramatic gesture had it not involved a lot of rearrangement of bodies in the tight space. Panting slightly, he held it up. “Voila, my fine feathered friends. We’ve located five scramblers – ah don’t reckon it’d take any more’n that – and made a jammer for each.”

“With what?” said Sulu, reaching for the thing.

Scotty snatched it away. “Hairclips, bra wires – you’d be amazed what those suckers forgot to take off us.”

“Are you saying,” said Uhura, “that the engineering staff has had a way out of here all this time and didn’t think to tell us?”

“Woah now,” said Scotty, looking wounded. “First off, you’re the ones who didn’t invite _us_ to this little – ”

“Scotty!”

Sulu shook his head. “A mass breakout is probably our best option at this point.”

“All right!” Scotty perked up. “And then what?”

“No idea. Sorry. Scatter throughout the ship, take control if we can. Anyone who makes it to any broadcasting equipment to alert Starfleet. Rendezvous at the _Enterprise_ if we can find her.”

“That’s it?” said Scotty.

“Hey, if you’d given us more time to come up with a strategy …”

“We only figured this out a few hours agoo ourselves!”

“Looks like we’re moving straight to number two, escape,” murmured Uhura to Chekhov.

“So long as it’s not at the expense of number one, survive,” Livingstone drawled.

Sulu ignored them. “Alright, Scotty, get your people together. Every seven and a half seconds, you said?”

“Seven and a bit,” said Scotty hurriedly.

“You can’t do better than that?”

“Hey, don’t look at me, laddie – uh, sir. Ask the maniacs for me watch back.”

“Okay. Well, we’re relying on you. Get in position, don’t take it down til I give the signal. The rest of you, spread out, let everyone else know the drill. Try to make it look inconspicuous – oh, you know.”

They began to disentangle themselves. It was a delicate business. Suddenly Sulu spoke again, a little awkwardly, quiet.

“And, uh, if … it’s been an honour serving with you all. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed,” said Chekhov.

“Godspeed,” echoed Uhura quietly.

Then somebody knocked a cushion and the whole fort came down around their heads, engulfing them in heavy leather and then light and breathable air.

Uhura managed to kick her way free and stood up, coughing. Scotty was staggering to his feet.

“How long do we have, Lieutenant?”

Uhura looked at her wrist, where a watch wasn’t. “Five minutes? Make it quick, Scotty. See you on the other side.”

 

*

 

“Did she say ‘Vorhalas’?” said Dr Nørdskov, in obvious confusion.

Princess Neo was still watching the alien, calm but – expectant? The stark lighting of the surgery threw everything into weird relief.

“What does that mean?” said Kirk.

Prince Themba crossed the room quickly and crouched beside her. “Are they one of the others?” he said, eager urgency colouring his voice. The princess turned to him and nodded.

“One of the other what?” said Kirk.

“And I guess that would almost explain …” said the prince, staring into space. “But so much …”

“One of the other _what_?” repeated Kirk dangerously.

The prince glanced up, one hand toying with the translator at his neck, clearly wishing he had turned it off. Then he stood and folded his hands, composed again as always.

“The story,” he said, “Is long and, at times, unbelievable.”

“Ohh,” said Dr Nørdskov, looking at the alien – Vorhalas? – with new interest. “This is one of – huh.”

“The truth is that we are not alone in the universe.”

Kirk glanced at Spock. “Uh, I think all of us here are aware of aliens, y’highness.”

“Ah, wrong phrasing, I think. I meant, the universe is not alone. How much do you know about brane theory?”

 

*


End file.
